


Benzylmethylecgonine

by miraculous_lovesquare



Series: Tumblr Fics (aka I made that text post without thinking) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drugs, M/M, Poor Sherlock, Recreation, Scolding, Tumblr, based off of recreational--scoldings, overuse of italitcs, sorry i dont do bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraculous_lovesquare/pseuds/miraculous_lovesquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home from work early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benzylmethylecgonine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [recreational--scoldings](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=recreational--scoldings).



> The title is the chemical name of cocaine, in case you were wondering. Bold is texting. Italics is Sherlock's mind palace (or sometimes emphasis).

"Sherlock? I know I said I wouldn't be home until 7 but- What the  _hell_ is that?" Sherlock had tried to hide his needle and vial before John walked in, but obviously he had been unsuccessful.

"Is that drugs?" John asked, still standing in the doorway with his shoes on. Sherlock could have lied, and he could have gotten away with it too, but he told the truth.

"Yes." The solid answer seemed to echo in the room. John's face was pained, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

"Why?" John's voice was quiet, but angry. It was strained even worse than his bit-not-good voice. Sherlock hated it, hated to have  _caused_ it.

"You. You're too much of a distraction." Sherlock told him, eyeing the liquid in the container on the floor. John breathed once. Twice. Then he walked back out the door. Sherlock flinched as the front door to 221 Baker Street closed with a slam. This was not good. Not at all good.

Despite the measures Sherlock took to procure the substance (Mycroft had spies all over London and both camera and person could tell if he bought anything 'recreational'), he binned the small jar. Carefully, of course. He couldn't have Mycroft or any other person find it afterwards, or his security would be beefed up even further (as if that were possible). After it was discarded, Sherlock sat in his chair, unsure what to do. He valued John's companionship, that's why he started using in the first place. How was he going to get John to stay now that he knew Sherlock didn't keep himself clean. Why did John even care? The drugs wouldn't have effected John, only Sherlock. As Sherlock sat pondering, the living room got darker and darker. John still didn't return.

What if he moved out? Sherlock shivered. That would be intolerable. John was his blogger, his conductor of light. He  _needed_ John. He took drugs because he couldn't stop  _thinking_ about the army doctor.  _Why_ that was, Sherlock didn't know. He went into his mind palace.

_"Hello dear brother, how may I be of service?" Mycroft._

_"Shut up, I didn't ask for you."_

_"Did you not? Every time you come in here with a problem, you talk with me about it. So what is it you want to talk about?" Sherlock pushed past him into an elegant bedroom. On the bed, stretched out was Irene Adler._

_"Well, well, well, look at what we have here. Our good detective in the funny hat." Irene smirked and sat up. "Why do you come to talk with me?"_

_"You know, you're in my head, just help me!" Sherlock demanded._

_"Oh dear, you do have quite the problem. Unfortunately, you'll have to come to your own conclusions." Irene motioned to the bottom half of the bed. "Have a seat, I can help lead you there."_

_Sherlock approached the bed cautiously and took a seat on the edge. He looked at Irene expectantly. What she said next surprised him._

_"JOHN!" The shout seemed to echo through the room. Then the door squeaked as a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the bedroom._

_"Yes?" John replied tersely. He never really liked Irene, and Sherlock couldn't fathom why._

_"Can you have a seat over there?" Irene pointed to a chair beside the bed. John glared at her._

_"Why should I?" He questioned, standing at soldier's attention._

_"You'll be helping your dear detective if you do." John rolled his eyes and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded at him._

_"Please Sit, John." Sherlock requested, and John did, still a bit stiff._

_"Look at him, Sherlock," Irene said. "What do you see?"_

_"I see an army doctor with a bullet wound to the-"_

_"No, no, no, Sherlock. What do you see, not what do you deduce."_

_"I see a man." Sherlock replied. Irene sighed._

_"Now what do you feel?"_

_"Nothing. I don't feel. I am a sociopath, Ms. Adler." Sherlock spoke sharply. "This is a waste of my time." He stood and was ready to exit, when a hand grabbed him._

_"You know you want to know more. Sit again." Sherlock sat. Irene smiled. She stood up and walked over to John. Slowly, she took off her dress. John_ liked _that._

_"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, not quite as calmly as he intended to._

_"How do you feel now, Sherlock?" Irene sat in John's lap and was about to kiss him-_

"STOP!" Sherlock shouted, bringing himself out of his mind palace. He knew what he felt, what Irene was trying to tell him.

He had a heart.

And it was angry at him, somewhere outside, alone, wandering through the streets of London. Sherlock whipped out his phone and sent a text.

**Where is he? -SH**

**Who, Sherlock? -MH**

**John. -SH**

**Well I should have known. Apologies. -MH**

**Where is he? -SH**

**You know how much I hate repetition, Sherlock. -MH**

**He's staying at his sister's. Did you get in a row? -MH**

Sherlock ignored the last text and searched through his phone for another contact.

**John, I'm sorry. -SH**

**Please come home. -SH**

Nothing for five minutes. Then,

**According to a certain genius, I'm a distraction.**

Sherlock winced.

**You can stop signing your texts, you know.**

**I need you. I've come to a realization. -SH**

**It's my signature, John. -SH**

**Why does this "realization" make you need me? I don't understand.**

**It's about you. -SH**

**So? Last I heard I was a problem.**

**I understand why now. Come to Baker Street. -SH**

**No. You can text me it.**

**It's important. -SH**

**Well I'm not leaving Harry's until you give me a legitimate reason.**

Sherlock thought about what he should say to that. His phone buzzed.

**Still there?**

He typed out the words slowly, and stared at them. Finally, he clicked the send button.

**I'm in love with you. -SH**

**WHAT? Sherlock, if this is just some way to get me back to Baker Street, I swear I won't come there ever again.**

**It's true. Come home, John. -SH**

**In a cab.**

Sherlock smiled. He couldn't wait to see his blogger.

**I am still mad. There will be an argument when I get home. No more drugs.**

Sherlock laughed. John had called Baker Street 'home.'


End file.
